


Oh the clever things I should say to you

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable dork, Awkwardness, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Fun, Goofball Sam, Reader request, Reader-Insert, Sam being silly, Sassy, Sex, Sex Is Fun, Sexual Content, Shyness, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5694322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are home-side and celebrating when hapless Sam walks into your line of very-friendly fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh the clever things I should say to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writingthingsisdifficult](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=writingthingsisdifficult).



> Request based on Ida Maria's _I like you so much better when you're naked._ Here you go @writingthingsisdifficult xo

“YOUR/NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAME!”

“LOUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIE!!!”

“LALALALALALALAL-”

“YAIAYAIAYAIAYI-”

“Do you _mind_?”

“Ugh, piss off Joel,” Louie swipes at the grumpy drunk, “I'm welcoming my buddyyyyy hoooOOOOOOME!”

You both resume running on the spot and stick your arms out beyond each other to trot in for a rick-rocking hug.  

“Ooooh missed your guts!!”

“Missed yours more Botch!  I had to do it all in this godforsaken town,” she grinds out and pulls back to look at you beam at her, “ _without you!_ ”

You wrap an arm around each other and start to walk to the island bench you've always leaned on.  “Yes, tolerating my absence without me,” you laugh, “what self-fulfilling pain.”

Louie squeezes you sideways, kissing your temple, and pulls her stool close to another so you can sit together.

“What's this?” you wonder, picking up your short drink.

“A gin!” she exclaims.  “For my fancy pants traveller.”

“Aw, you remembered!  Well,” you say, downing the shot in two gulps, a breathy groan matching the noise of you slamming the glass, “truth be told, I'm home my dear Louise.  I want a bourbon.”

“Heyyyyy!” Louie raises her hands, turning to Andy behind the bar.  “She wants a bourbon!”

“She wants a bourbon!” he calls back.

“She wants a bourbon!” you echo, and grin as Louie grabs the drink from Andy before he adds it to the tab.  “Thank you Andy!”

“Good to see ya, Y/N,” he nods.  “You look good.”

“Thank you!”

“Have you eaten?” Louie checks, ever thoughtful of your self-neglect.  

“Yes, Mom fed me already, but let's get some snacks.”

“Do you have much work to do tomorrow?” she asks, sipping quickly.  This is how she maps out the evening, by working backwards from the responsibilities of those she loves and planning the drinks out against the clock.

“No, nothing tomorrow my sweet. It can all wait till Sunday.”

“Well then,” she bounces her eyebrows, “where we're going we don't need... _roads_ ,” and offers her drink for a cheers.  You chink the glass and sip, deciding to take it easy anyway.  This last year in London had taught you much, including how to pace yourself.

* * *

“Come ON, Sam!” Dean smacked the steering wheel.  “Why?”

“I'm just not up for it tonight!”

“Where's the trouble,” Dean pleads, glancing at him.  “How can you be so uninterested?!”

“ _Dis_ interested-”

“Shuttup! Look, don't make me sit in a small-town bar by myself,” he presses. “It's weird and creepy, and you need a break too.”

“I always need a break,” Sam mutters.

“I know!  So _come on!”_ Dean felt his point had been made but Sam was just sick of watching the same show over and over and getting the dregs.  Well, not dregs, but the last few times had been with shy besties who were overwhelmed, insecure, and lovely... and it was fine that nothing came of it but it's a lot of beer and small-talk so that Dean can get laid.  Which he can do on his own just fine.  

But they're in the car already...  “Fuuuck,” Sam slumps, and Dean releases the wheel to clap in triumph.  

Sam's about to sigh a groan of defeat but they're pulling into the carpark already and getting a really handy parking spot on the blue-stone because _there is no one in this town_.  The bar's single neon sign stares at him – Andy's – and Sam gets out of the car so sadly his fingers almost touch the ground.

* * *

You and Louise were opposite each other now, leaning on your elbows so much your foreheads were almost touching.  You'd been explaining more about the last guy you had seen.  It was a relationship that was well suited to the interruption of a one-way international flight.  

“So what was wrong with him,” Louise asks, “in the end?”

“Nothing, really,” you sigh.  “He was nice and bright and fairly easy on the eyes an' all that... just... not that hot.”

“Oh that's a shame,” Louie pouts.  “What kind of hot were you looking for?”

“You know what, I'm going to be candid here-”

“Oh yes please.”

“-when I started college, I got my hands on, like, two quick hotties and a few nice guys.”

“Yes,” she recalls and nods.

“And then this year away, the few I was with were different, and lovely, and it was a bit exotic, you know?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“But we're a bit older now,” you look at your fingers as you confess the truth, “I'm doing law, not pre-law, and I don't really want to spend what little time I have with, you know, _meh_.  I'd rather drink with you-”

“That's a compliment, isn't it,” Louie sips.

“The highest, I'm sure,” you pat her hand, “and being back home now I just-”

“Humunah.”  Louie's eyes are on the door.

“Humunah?”

“Humunah,” she repeats.

“Are you saying humunah?” you check.

“Jesus wept I'm saying humunah in every language I know,” she answers. “Humunah, humunah, humunah, just be subtle.”

You pick up your drink and sip as you turn, pretending to cast a glance around the rest of the room and sweep it over two newcomers inside the door.  The shorter one comes into clear view as he reaches the bar, but the taller is behind him and looking around the place.

Minutely, you register his disinterest, but it does nothing to distract you from how handsome he is.  He's tanned and tall.  Tall like he's been growing in the sun.  He's got longish hair, for a guy, and it's a bit shaggy.  When he shrugs his shoulders, tucking his arms into his pockets, you can see that his frame has a bit of fill to it.  Your brain gasps and sighs _I am home_.

He catches your eye and you snap around, but only for a second before peeking back to look at him again – checking you really saw what you saw – and he's still looking at you.  His expression has softened a bit.  Not quite a smile, but he's definitely looking at you.

“Y/N, sweetie,” Louie says, and you turn to her a moment. “Remember all those times I said 'I dare you' and you said 'I don't do dares' because you're so goddam fucking sensible?”

“Yes,” you sip again.

“Now is not the time to be sensible.”

“No, dear. I think you're right.”

“Prayers could be answered-”

“Yes.”

“-signs are afoot-”

“Indeed.”

“I bags the shorter one.”

“Deal.  And Louie?” she looks at you a moment.  “I don't think I've seen anyone better looking in my waking life.  I'm going all in.”

“Fuck yeah.”

You turn back to look at the visitors and hear the shorter one, who is pretty damn fine himself, pass a beer to his friend as say “Sammy?”

Sammy is distracted a moment, takes the drink, and looks right back at you with a little hesitation.

You wave, happily.  A big, high wave and he twitches at you in confused curiosity, his expression easing even more, possibly even on its way to a smile...

“Sam?” you say, then call with some volume, “Sam!”  You wave more.

Somehow, your eye contact, your happy, delighted welcoming mood, has cracked him enough for you to make a move.  You see it in his eyes, just in the way the corners tilt.  You head over, saying his name again and as you get closer you get fast enough to run and jump - _possibly_ peaking too soon - essentially forcing him to catch you.  _Which he does._

“Sam!” you say happily.  “You're here!  That's the best news I've had all day!”

He can't help it.  He grins and closes his eyes, laughing at your effort.

 _Oh my God_ , that smile.  _And he's holding a cold beer against my arse._

“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask politely.

“No,” he says patiently. “I don't.”

“And what brings you to Andy's tonight?”

“Uh, just a few drinks-”

“Wait,” you pat his shoulder.  “No girlfriend and drinking?!  Shit Sam, we could be sisters!!”

His friend laughs next to you and Louie, bolstered by your bravery and shenanigans, offers him a hand.  “Hi, I'm Louie,” she says and smiles broadly.

“Hey Louie,” he grins back, taking her hand.  “I'm Dean.  Who's this?”

You climb down from Sam and give him some space as Louie introduces you, with no flourish spared. “This is my marvellous and talented best-friend, Y/N, fresh off the plane from England.  We're celebrating her being home.”

“Is that so?” Dean asks interestedly.  “Why were you in England?”

“I did a year of my law degree there,” you explain, deciding to not play it down or mumble the truth.  Because that's what you did.

“Damn Sammy,” he smacks Sam on the shoulder,  “you could be sisters.”

You look at Sam with a question in your face and he shrugs, “Uh, I used to do pre-law at Stanford.”

“Really?!  Why 'used to'?” you ask, genuinely wondering as you turn and encourage him to follow you.  You all walk to the bench while he shrugs again, “Uh, the family business kind of hijacked everything.”

“Oh, well you probably wouldn't have liked it,” you shake your head, frowning exaggeratedly.

“Really?” he smiles, not tricked one bit.

“Nah, the guys are generally _really_ unattractive, and none of them know how to kiss. But!” you explain, as you collect your drink, “the really arrogant ones don't know what they don't know, so those arguments are lots of fun.”

“I bet,” he laughs and sips his beer.

Dean leans across the table top from his spot next to Sam, beginning a clandestine conversation with Louie who, you can tell, is tightening every screw in her system just to focus on what he's saying.  “Louie, I think your friend has taken a shine to my little brother here,” he confides.

“Well,” she begins, and you're already grinning from the scrambled look on her face.  “She's a bit simple like that, always going for the homely ones, never the lookers.  Should see her with stray dogs.”

Dean actually blushes a smidge, rolling a thought around in his mouth before he turns to whisper something in Sam's ear.  “Never doubt me again,” he murmurs.

You and Louie mock frown at their sharing secrets before you, Louie saying “Rude,” before leaning over to whisper in your ear, “His beautiful face is making my ears ring.”

You laugh openly, delighted she's decided to be courageous and go for someone she's actually attracted to.  In all those high school years the two of you had never ranked hot enough or cool enough to bother competing with the 'beautiful girls'.  But you quietly felt that both of you had grown into pretty good women, Lou especially, and tonight you were the only fish in the barrel for Sam and Dean.  Since they seemed happy enough to shoot, you were just fine with being filled with lead.  So to speak.

“Well, regardless of how unfortunate poor Sam is in the looks department,” Dean resumed the conversation, leaning over to Louie again, “he _should_ still be at Stanford and has a great, big, fat, brain.  I hope your Y/N is up to the banter.”

Dean looks over at you and you look up at Sam, offering him a chance to chime in.  He looks from his brother, to you, then takes a sip of his drink, but it seems he can't decide what to say.  “Yeah, I got a big head.”

Sam glances down at his hands while Dean shakes his head, but when he looks back up at you, you've got a knowing smile on your face, and he suddenly seems friendly, like he might actually relax.

“Swap spots with me Dean,” you say, moving around to stand next to Sam and opposite Louie, “I want to bat eyelashes at my bestie...”

Half an hour of rapid-fire smart-arsing is broken up by Sam and Dean getting another round of drinks.

“Hey Louie seems like fun,” Sam says encouragingly as they lean on the bar.

“To be honest,” Dean replies.  “She seems fucking lovely.  I don't think she does this much,-”

“No,” Sam agrees.

“- but she's smart, you know?  And nice and pretty.  Like, really pretty.  I think we'll have a good time.  But dude... _Dude_ ,” Dean grumbles, “are you feeling okay?”

“What? I'm fine,” he says evasively.

“You've barely said a word.  I mean,” he leans against the bar and looks back at you and Louie chatting closely, “there's nothing left to do.  She's keen, obviously, but are you?”

“Yeah!” Sam says.  “Of course, she's great!”

“So what's wrong?  You sick?”

“No, she's just... I dunno, she's really great.  Just kinda floored me a bit.”

“Oh, poor Sam,” Dean groans.  “Well, you're lucky you don't need to try coz that's pathetic.”

Sam scowls at him but doesn't deny it.

“And I'm not sure we've seen anyone more your type in months and months,” Dean adds.  “At the very least Sammy, don't fuck it up.”

“ _Dean_ ,” he groans. “I'm not an idiot.  She's just-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves him off before collecting the drinks, “Good luck getting it on without a dick.”

“You suck.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Back at your table you and Louie had been mapping out your own concerns.

“Okay, so don't ask me how I'm going,' she warns, “coz if I think too hard about this I'll puke.  I've never hooked up with someone his handsome before.”

“Well, I'm not sure what the magic words are here but I promise you, honestly, without a doubt, he is not sad about how this is going.  He's enjoying your company, he's having fun, he's attracted to you.  You're in.  You're fine.  He's keen...  Meanwhile I'm assuming Sam's interested based on his lack of protest-”

“Are you kidding me!” Louie exclaimed.  “He's fucking barely standing.  I've never seen you in better form, Y/N.  Don't change a thing.  You're all,” she waves her hands over you like you’re a big crystal ball, “just being your best.  _I love it.”_

 _“_ Thanks sweetie.  That said... what happens next?”

“You mean where?”

“They'll be staying in town but sharing a room I bet.  Can you get privacy at your place?”

“Yes!  Everyone's away tonight.  I told them we'd come home stumbling drunk and loud and they all pissed off to their boyfriends’.”

“Okay, cool, well that's two places if they want to separate... Do we want separate places?”

But the brothers return before you can decide.  Instead the next conversation organises it for you: Dean will drive Louie home and Sam will walk you to the motel, which isn't that far from your place.  

As you and Sam hug your jackets around yourselves, hunching against the cool night, he asks questions about your degree, curious about what he had been missing, and it's easy to talk about London and school since he doesn't seem to want to talk about whatever the family business is.  

The chatting continues, peppered with moments of happy flirting and Sam relaxes more and more.  Or you unrelax; it's hard to tell.  At the driveway to the motel he nods “That's us down there,” and you finish what you're saying, pausing on the footpath.

Sam watches you as you take a big breath and talk some more, not really thinking too hard about it because part of your mind is watching you turn and walk down toward their room as though you do this every weekend.  

The truth is, your initial bravado, that ballsy directness you showed Sam at the start, has lessened and backed off so much you're afraid you might actually grind to a halt.  Initially it was just to give Sam some space and not overwhelm him too much, not be too smothering or demanding, but the more he talks the more the tables turn.  He _does_ fucking belong in college, he's freaking sharp and articulate and lovely, but instead he's working with his brother doing _something_ and your growing sobriety and chattering brain has you beginning to think you're way out of your league.  Not least of all because he's got gorgeous eyes, fine features and a broad, dimpled smile that makes you rock onto your toes.

At the motel room door, Sam stands opposite you, the door to your left, and for a moment you wonder what the hell you've actually been saying to him.  He's doing a good job of ignoring what he sees in your face; _What the fuck was I just on about? Am I being a wanker?_

“Would you like to come in?” he asks, friendly and casual.

“Yeah sure,” you say brightly, and swear at your embarrassing self.  _I have done this before_ , you think.  _Well, not a motel room, exactly, but this._

Sam removes his jacket and chucks it on the nearest bed.  You bite your lip in concern because the action displays a whole lot of strength in him you hadn't really registered before. Those shoulders have _heft_.

“You want a drink?” he offers.

“Yeah, whatever's going,” you say.  “You mind if I use the bathroom?”

“Go for it,” he says.

You wipe away a bit of the make-up that's showing the antics of earlier - the smooshing Louie-hugs and rubbed eyes and _don't look at yourself too long.  Florescence is never forgiving_.

Back in the main room you remove your jacket too and throw it on Sam’s but it slides off onto the floor. You pick it up and put it ... _um_ , you see a hook by the door, so use that.  Then come back, stopping yourself from rubbing your thighs and take the beer Sam offers.  He's leaning against the kitchenette bench and kindly waiting for you to get your confidence back.

You sip, and think, not realising that you've forgotten to pretend that you're just fine... “So, um, I'm here,” you nod.

“Yeah,” Sam laughs.  “Uh, I'm glad.”

“That's good,” you say emphatically, bordering on accidental sarcasm.

Sam stands and shifts his weight as he drinks from his bottle and looks at you.  You're offside a little, looking around and licking your lips between your sips, avoiding the sight of him calculating the situation with you.  It's like he's gearing up; not predatory, just thinking...

Which is great coz your conversation has abandoned you.  You've got nuthin'.  No quips, no thoughts about the night, not even a single entendre.  Just an overwhelming desire to ungraciously suck his tongue into your head and squeeze his arse with all ten fingers...

You catch a glimpse of him there, looking down at you, waiting patiently with the hintiest of cheek and nearly roll your eyes at yourself for doing this so badly.  You start to nod and chew your cheek.  “I _love_ this part,” you nod.  _That_ was sarcasm.

Sam almost spits his beer back into the bottle, and as he's leaned over to wipe his chin he puts his drink on the bench and laughs - not at you, but for you. It's such a relief.  You bite on your lip as you smile.  

He stands straight, grinning at you and he suddenly looks completely different – he looks _ready._   In fractions of a second, your pulse pulls into your chest and you can't swallow fast enough.  Two steps and he has your head in his hands and your lips against his and he doesn't stop moving, walking you backwards, pausing only to take the beer from you and put it on the table as he moves you back toward the bed.

“You're fucking hot,” he says against your mouth.

“What?” you mumble.

“You're hot,” he repeats, “and gorgeous.  All your brains and sunny smiles.  Why'd you lose your nerve?”  He stops a bit and rubs up and down your waist where he's settled his hold of you, the heat of his hands distracting.

You need to squeeze your fingers to find out where they are: _Arm and ribs.  Both firm.  Glory._   “Because... you started showing off your brains and sunny smiles,” you confess, “and it turns out you're way fucking hotter than I first thought.”

He smiles and huffs a laugh against you, breath all warm and hoppy.

“And I thought you were pretty handsome when you walked in,” you explain, “so yeah, it kinda got away from me.”

He kisses you, firm and warm, and when he works his lips a little it quickly grows into something that tastes and licks and you struggle to keep up with him.  When he hums, you look at him, impossibly close but still you see his eyebrows are furrowed over tightly shut eyes.

Then he steps into you, practically pushing you off your own ground, and he reaches around your body.  His left hand pushes across the back of your waist and down the far hip until he can get a full handful of cheek and pulls you up against him.  He breathes in hard, his action making you do the same, and pushes his tongue right over yours, licks up its centre, then laps again catching it's underside.  You groan against him in surprise, fisting his shirt so tightly you're not even touching his skin any more, just pulling the fabric to hold on.  This kiss, with shameless taking, teeth knocking and your generous corners being grabbed, it's the kiss you wanted.  It keeps going and you're doing whatever happens after swooning.  You're coping.

“I wanna take your clothes off,” he says.

You realise the full weight of your head is in his hand.  Thank goodness too coz you're not clear on where up is and stall for time by saying “What?”

“Can I?” he asks. “Get you naked?”

“Um, okay,” you mumble, opening your eyes and trying to figure out where you are.  “Yes, okay- Wait, you too.”

“Sure,” he says, pulling you upright and over your feet.  You glance about and feel shy, half noticing the open curtains of the window just by the bed.  You wonder if he locked the door too.  It's the motel room, you realise: you've never gotten naked anywhere but a secluded bathroom or bedroom.  

So that, coupled with Sam, less than a foot away, toeing off his boots and removing his watch, has you thinking about is how vanilla and safe your experiences have been so far.  Also, _He's removing his goddamn watch.  Fuck._

Sam starts helping you with your top, his fingertips tripping over your ribs as he pushes everything up, and you run your hands down his buttons to release them, landing on the waistband of his jeans.  There you pause while he kisses you, hot, noisy kisses that slide and bounce over your cheek and jaw, then down your neck.  You close your eyes to feel it, and when you detect him working on your pants you start on his, keeping your eyes closed on purpose so you can get through it all in one go.

In mere seconds, you're both near naked.  Sam straightens to pull his t-shirt off and you catch sight of him.  

He's fucking perfect.  

You freak out.

“Shit!” you squeak. You duck down and grab something from the floor and lunge to the wall, flicking off the light.

Simultaneously, Sam's reacted, instinctively following your lead, swearing “Shit! What?!” in worry.   When the lights go off, you hear him say “Wa- What?!” as he scrambles about.

He's reaches over, flicks the switch and the brightness is back.  And you're mortified.  Not least of all because you're holding your jeans against you, a leg over each boob, the seat of it hanging in front of your groin.  You shut your eyes tight and hope he'll just go to the bathroom and let you redress and leave.

“Y/N!” Sam gasps, “What're you doing?”  

“Nothing.”

“Hey!  You okay?” he asks, then leans over to touch your arm.  “What's wrong?”

“Uh,” you peek at him.  “Nothing!  Nothing really...”

He looks so sweet, so concerned, puffing air out his nose and trying not to smile at you.  “Why... why do I have a shirt wrapped around my waist?”

“Uuh,... because you're a gentleman.”

Sam stands tall and takes a deep breath.  You wince and pinch your cheek up to your eye because he's effectively flared every muscle in his torso so now you know exactly what you're dealing with here and it's exactly the most perfect specimen of a man you've ever met.  Seen. Heard of.  _Imagined._ Handsome, tall, broad, muscular, tanned, near hairless, and _sssssssstronguhhJesusfuck_...

“Did you freak out?” he guesses.

“Yeah... I fruck out.”

He grins at you a moment and you try to stand up straight.  “Sorry,” you sigh.

“That's okay,” he says, still smiling.  Then, after a few patient moments, he tilts to the side, apparently trying to look a your butt.  You frown a little and turn, pulling the jeans sideways to shield yourself.

His eyes slip over your your other hip, catching the length of skin revealed from ribs to knee and he bounces his eyebrows at the sight, smiling slyly and you scowl reflexively.  What, on earth, you're trying to hide... you don't even know.

“Your fly's undone,” he points.

“Knock it off,” you mutter, beginning to smile back.

He waits a moment, lets you see him look at the cleavage visible between the knees of the jeans, and how his eyes track down your belly.  

You shift your hold and begin slowly, _casually_ , reaching out to the light switch again but he lightly swipes his hand down on yours saying “Hey no! Come on! Y/N,” he says.  “I saw you.  You're hot.”

You twist your lips and nearly kick the ground as you mutter “I'm nowhere near as hot as you.”

Sam steps forward, getting close again.  Close enough he needs to tilt his head down to look at you and you can smell his aftershave and whatever drug it is that his body produces – _ooof, that's not fair_.

“Well, I don't wanna sleep with me,” he says quietly.

“No, you get to sleep with you every other night,” you reply. “Lucky bastard.”

He leans down and holds himself an inch from your ear.  “I want to sleep with just you.  Not the jeans.”

His tenor penetrates your skin and ripples along your nerves.  Your instinct is to rub your ear to your shoulder but mercifully, you don’t.

“Come on, Y/N,” he says, inching closer still, “I like you better when you're naked.”

You tilt so you can look at him, but he's so smouldering it mainly serves to freeze your mouth.  

“If I'd had my head on tonight, I would've been hitting on you,” he confides, “Not the other way around.”

“Really?”

“Definitely,” he nods, then presses his lips to the corner of your jaw, mumbling “I would've had to fight Dean for the honour.”

“What?  What do you mean fight?”

“Well, rock paper scissors,” he admits.

“Oh, that does sound honourable,” you mutter, closing your eyes and swaying under the pressure of his tongue behind your ear.

“It isn't,” he whispers.  “He always chooses scissors.”

He takes the shirt held around his middle and reaches around behind you, sharing the fabric across both hands and stretching it over your waist.  “Drop the jeans?” he whispers.

You hesitate, saying _Mmm_ as some sort of place-holder to your chickening out.

“Y/N, do you want to put all your clothes back on and have a beer?”

“Oh...” you think a bit, “No.”

He kisses along the rise of your cheek and lowers his voice again to say “Drop the jeans.”

Your belly trembles and you glance up at him.  His smile is slight and promising, and his eyes seem to twinkle with ideas.

You clear your throat and blink, glancing down at yourself before slowly lowering your hands as far as they'll go.  For a moment you notice his erection and, from this close angle, it seems to be looking at you hopefully, sweetly _... Little cutie._  You drop the pants on your feet.

As soon as they're gone, Sam snatches the shirt across your back and smacks you into his body, pulling you against him and kissing you heavily.   _Too many things,_ you think.  You're pretty sure you made a pathetic noise but honestly, you have the valleys of his back in your hands, his torso can't even press flush against you because the muscles are too curvy, the hair of his thighs goes all the way to your hips but that little cutie is _not that little and you wouldn’t be surprised if it kissed your boobs.  Humunah._

You slide your palms up his back, then manage to pull your arms out from under his and reach up his shoulders, all the way to his jaw and hold him as best you can while he tilts and bites at you.  When you feel his hands on your back, sliding and smearing, you notice the shirt is still there.  Sam moves, teetering you both side to side, the softness of your waist being pulled about and you figure out he's freaking tied the shirt around you both, knotted it behind his back, to keep you together.  

“What the hell?” you laugh, trying to look down.

“What?” he smirks.

“Seriously?” you're smiling into his face and he's grinning enough that the kisses are barely happening now.

“What?” he feigns innocence.  You're bumped into the bed and since you're already leaning back to deal with the towering man that Sam is, you tumble, Sam going right along with you as you _woah!_ and _oof!_ from him landing on you, giggling and rolling you both so you're laying over his warm, smooth body.

“Oh my god!” you cry.  “What are you doing?!”

“Just trying to keep you focused,” he replies, happy and cheeky.

“Holy shit,” you're beginning to puff as you wriggle and try to balance yourself on him, your own happiness undeniable.  “This is so awkward!”

“Yeah but your squirming is killing me,” he groans, ignoring your battle and cupping your head so he can pull you down for a kiss.

And you want to kiss him, but “Uh, God, it's like my shell is on backwards.”

Sam starts giggling under you, bouncing you both, and you start to laugh along.  “I can't even,” you grunt, “I can't get my knees up-” you try spreading your legs, seeing if you're flexible enough to pull them up beside his waist, “I need to-uh-” but you do it and without realising you've manoeuvred yourself so that his hard length nudges between your lips, right against your clitoris and you both gasp, your movements stuttering to catch and repeat the action, mouths leaning on each other for a moment.

Sam pushing his palms against the rise of your hips, moving you down and up, moaning at your gasp.  He works you a few times like that so you can both feel how good it is.

He tilts his head and looks up saying “Can you reach the side pocket of that bag?”

You slide up, pulling on the loop around your waists, and focus on your task as Sam starts lapping and kissing around your breast.  Condom in hand, you try to come back to centre but he holds you there, nudging and sucking on the swell and curve.  While you’re propping yourself up, he finds the protection in your hand, opens it behind your back and slips it on while you're out of the way.

You expect to move back down, but again he holds your ribs to keep you there, getting into your cleavage some more, then inches you over him so he can reach your nipples.  You watch him collect one in his mouth, sucking your breath a little at the sensation.  He holds it between his lips and grazes the tip with his tongue, watching you swallow your groan.  He does it again, and again, willing you to let go of your shyness and show how good it feels.  

“'S'at nice?” he mumbles around the nipple.

“Mmm,” you reply.

He does it again and you close your eyes, pushing your fingers over his head as you suck on your lip, unconsciously rocking yourself up and down his body in small increments.  

“C'mon, Y/N,” he says, licking around the peak as it hangs over him, “make some noise for me.”

“No,” you smile, “I'm a lady.  I'm fucking demure.”

Sam grins with a slyness that makes your skin skitter.  Reaching down and around your legs you feel his hand slide up your thigh directly to the wetness and starts dragging a light touch over the creases and dips.  You shift a little, his holding arm tightening around you (the strength of him thrilling enough), and give in for a moment when he finds your clitoris.  

It’s almost pressed against his belly, but not hard to reach.  He runs a digit around your opening and slides it up to your clit, circling a few times.  It feels delicious and your thighs tighten against him, knees digging into the comforter.  He introduces another finger and drags them up and down either side of your clit, running a slight pinch over it.  You shut your eyes as a high hum bounces from your throat and he nudges you with his nose.

“What?” you say reflexively, and he smiles in reply which seems completely unfair.  With his other hand in your hair he encourages you to kiss him, and you do, gladly, for some distraction.  

“‘S’at feel good?” he asks again, talking into your mouth.

“Nnng,” you reply.

He rubs a bit quicker, kissing you roughly and lapping.  Somehow he gets his teeth and tongue to open your mouth, tricking your hums into moans and freeing your noises for him to collect.

He circles more, harder, getting short aching moans from you in time, then he flicks over the nub and your voice jumps to a pleading _Ah!,_ your hips snapping away from him as far as they can, which is not much.  He keeps flicking back and forth and your voice climbs higher on each breath, soon wanting mercy from the pleasure as you lean back from him and pull on the shirt.  You grab at his shoulder and push off his chest as you gasp and strain and start saying “Sam!  Uh!  Shit!”

You assume he gets his fill of watching you squirm, or finds some pity, because he slides his fingers back to that soft, wet dint and dips into it, working a firm circle into what he can reach with his palm hugging your cheek.  

You drop your head and breathe, Sam reaching up to kiss you and mumble praise.  “You look so sexy, Y/N, when you’re feeling good like that.”

“If you think so,” you puff, realising you’re working yourself again, over his fingers and against his body.  You wonder when you’ll give up caring about all else and just ride him home.

Sam hums, saying “Yeah, I wanna see some more.”  He drops his shoulder so he can get more depth and seeks out something that will get a reaction, quickly nudging a patch that makes your whole body twitch and he bites his lip.  You lean your forearms besides his ears and wrap your hands over the his hair, practically hugging his head as you plead “Aaaaah!  Sam! God- damn!”  He kisses your neck, bites at your ear, and you your throat starts to ache from the tension in your voice.  

The pleasure is rapturously good, but it’s also not what you’d prefer, and when you’re sure of it, you snap.  “No!” you pant, “Enough!  You!”

He gets the message and withdraws his fingers, squeezing your ass with his huge hands and kissing your breathless lips.  He puts both hands on your pelvis to guide you downwards, and you shuffle the rest of your body as he leads you down onto his cock.  You empty your lungs at the sensation, and it feels pushed out cubic inch for cubic inch.  

Again he pushes your hips with the heels of his hands and helps you bury him as far as he can go.  After a few seconds to settle, he grips your cheeks with his fingers and tilts you up and down.  You both moan and kiss, and on the next go he thrusts upward, the full thickness and depth felt so momentarily that you’re instantly frustrated.  You want his bone mashed against your fleshy softness, you want to _bounce_.  Two more teasing pumps and you’re bordering on plain shitty.

“Up,” you say, wrapping your hand around his neck and pulling.  He sits up with you, those glorious abs appearing again and he rocks his hips into your body as hard as he can.  It makes you pop your head up just for the noise, but again there's not enough contrast.  You fiddle at his back, trying to release the heinous shirt that’s keeping you from a proper fucking.

As soon as it’s loose you get your palms inside Sam’s shoulders and thump him back onto the bed, pushing with your hands to grind your hips down onto his.  He lets out a loud grunt at the force of your fuck.  You rock forward, upwards, and then drop back down, levering against him as you squeeze with your legs.  The clench stretches from your knees pressing into his sides all the way up into your pussy around the head of his cock.  

“Uuhohfuck!” Sam groans, throwing his head back into the comforter.  His hands land on your waist, feeling you flex and drive your body onto his, dropping your head to concentrate on the feeling of him through your groin and abdomen.

You work over him, bouncing, pulling and pushing while you keep yourself tight, almost sucking the orgasm out of him.  He’s gorgeous beneath you, tensing and breathing along with your efforts and frowning hard as he tries not to trip over the end.

You’re concentrating on how good he feels, how thick and hot inside you, and don’t notice that he’s sitting up till he’s in your face, kissing and pulling your chest against his with a warm arm up the middle of your back.  He pulls you back down with him and rolls you both, then leans back above you to pull out and drive in.  

It punches a moan out of you, the sound jumping out of your chest and ricocheting off your palate.  You wrap your legs around him and tighten them, and Sam moans, almost pausing, at the sensation of your pussy clamping down on him again.

“Y/N,” he warns, “seriously, that feels too good.”

“Makes us even,” you reply.  You reach up, asking with your hands for him to come closer.  He leans on his elbows to kiss you and snaps his hips into you at this angle.  Then collects a leg, hooking his elbow into your knee and pushes it back.  You cry out at how his cock now drags over your g-spot, pushing and tempting it on every rolling thrust.  He grunts at the change too and how nice it is and thinks of how much he likes being pulled at, on his waist, and ribs and shoulders.

You find you can still tighten yourself around him like this and think to watch his reaction this time.  It’s excellent: he’s almost angry at you, and stops to shift his hands, frowning intensely and swearing blue.

He thumps into you, like it’s some sort of payback, and you arch for it just to spite him.  “That’s nice,” you tell him. “Feels so sweet.”

“You’re so tight like this,” he gasps.  “I’m gonna go soon.”

“Okay,” you smile, and he thumps again, you groaning in happy reply.

He splits a rueful grin, giving in to the situation, and goes for it, ramming into your wound core, a climbing “Ah! Ah!” coming from him, teeth clenching, hands gripping hair and skin.  You bite your lip and tighten again.  Right when you think he might come, when his focus drops inside himself and his brow releases, you relax your muscles and his next groan almost breaks, his thrusts losing rhythm and his fingertips digging into you.  He reaches down and finds your clit, just rolling it between finger and thumb.  A different tightness snaps across you - chemical and spontaneous - and on the third impact you scream a little, yelling beside his head before he drops on you and jerkily pulses there, everything between your knees and your waists trembling, both of you wondering what the hell just happened.

* * *

A whole hour is eaten up with snacking and chatting, laying under bedcovers and talking about nothing.  Sam insists you stay at the motel with him, in Dean’s bed if you prefer, but when you wake up you realise you both fell asleep with the lamps on and in a tangle.

You try, not too gently, to move Sam’s arm off you.  It’s laying across your body, a great limb of meat heavy enough to make you work for a breath.  You’ve no intention of sneaking out, so lift his wrist and make to slide away even if he wakes.

“Hey- what?” he’s roused instantly and grumpy.  “No! Snuggles.”

His fingers tuck under your waist and you’re simultaneously pulled and turned so that your back is tight against his chest.  He slots himself along the back of your form, ankles tangled, knees in dips, butt in hips and nose to neck, he’s right there.  “Why would you skip such a good part?”

“Oh,” you try to shrug, “it just seems a bit intimate… for a one-nighter.”  His forearm is huge across your waist and you rest yours upon it.

“Hmm,... well, who’s to say I won’t call you some time in the future…”

“Really?” You turn your head a little as if to look at him.

“Would you give me your number?” he asks, voice clear and awake.

“Yeah.”

You feel him take a deep breath, his belly filling out against your back, and he kisses your hairline.  It’s singularly the most lovely feeling you’ve felt in months and months.  “We’ll swap,” he promises.

“How do you think Lou and Dean went?” you wonder aloud.

Sam is quiet but you feel his chest bounce a little.  “What’s she like?” he asks.  “In bed.  Do you know?”

“Not personally, but to be honest I think she’d be up for a lot if she trusted someone… had the place to themselves…”

“Then I think he’ll be getting her number too,” Sam decides, tightening the snuggle.

“Oh really?” you turn yourself a little, trying to see his face.  “You reckon Dean’s that smooth a talker.”

“He’s that smooth an everything, the fucker.”

“You think he’s getting some morning nookie?” you ask.  A beat passes before Sam lifts his head to look at you properly.  His hair is a little skewiff, but his cheeks are warm and his eyes are bright.  Your chest tightens at the nearness of his fine features, all of them put together so handsomely in the morning light.

He doesn’t even answer you, skipping all the banter that might lead to sex and just getting started.  He slides himself over you, cupping your jaw and slotting into place, kissing and caressing and surging, all that skin at the perfect morning-bed temperature.  Except for the seconds he breaks away to get some protection, the whole thing rolls on without pause, his fingers drawing out the welcoming moisture from you, the nudging and pushing of his hardness into you, how his thighs slip under yours and give you all their strength, your hands trying to caress and tickle and hold and pull, all at once.  By the end of it you’ve got your hands up his back and in his hair, and his body is locked into yours, your whole self feeling kneaded into coming as he lengthens and rocks in time, reaching into you so deeply.  The sweat is surprising and his sweet breathlessness makes you pine for him already.

Your eyebrows don’t rest until lunchtime - from his happy chit chat over breakfast, to his smouldering goodbye, and right throughout the half-hour walk back to your parents’ place - the whole time they sit high, surprised and happy, and don’t get much rest afterwards either since Sam texts you from the road.

 **Sam** : Definitely calling this number again.  Hope you can answer.  
**Y/N** : Oh yeah.  We have too much in common, remember - No girlfriend AND drinking.

Then you think about it a little harder.

 **Y/N** :  Thank you for being patient with me.  And generous.  
**Sam** : I wasn’t that patient, which I blame on you and how hot your boobs looked in those jeans.  
**Y/N** :  Tell you what.  Next time you can choose whether I wear the jeans or the turtle shell.    
**Sam** : Fuck that.  If I get my way you’ll be lucky to be wearing nail polish.    
**Sam** : I gotta go, but I will call you when I’m next in town.  
**Y/N** :  Then I’ll tell you if I move.  
**Sam** : Deal.  Take care Y/N  
**Y/N** : You too Sam


End file.
